


Proserpine

by setissma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setissma/pseuds/setissma
Summary: “God, you’re terrible at this,” Draco remarked, without any real rancor. His chin was propped on his hand as he contemplated the chessboard in the dim firelight.





	Proserpine

“God, you’re terrible at this,” Draco remarked, without any real rancor. His chin was propped on his hand as he contemplated the chessboard in the dim firelight.

“If you’d run toxicology faster, then you wouldn’t have to play chess with me,” Hermione said, amused. “Not to mention the fact that you keep offering.”

“I keep hoping you’ll improve,” Draco said.

Hermione reached for a piece, and a large paw reached from under the table and knocked it off.

“Not that one,” Ximarron said. Hermione had thought he was asleep.

“Xim, you are a menace,” Draco said. “Although I do wonder how it’s possible you’re better at this than she is.”

“I paid more attention when Ron was trying to teach us,” Xim said. “But it’s mostly that I think it’s interesting and she hates chess.”

“I don’t hate it,” Hermione said. “Well, I do, but it’s only because I’m terrible at it. I’m trying to learn.”

“Gryffindors,” Leda said, from where she’d stretched out in front of the fire. “If you’d just said so, we could’ve been doing something we all enjoyed twice a week instead of this tedious nonsense.”

“She shares your opinion of chess, apparently,” Draco said, dryly. “Maybe I should start playing against your daemon. You and Leda could read.”

“We most certainly could not,” Leda said, with another yawn. “You and I do enough of that already.”

“You sleep, I read,” Draco said.

“I suppose you could read aloud, but that would interfere with the sleeping bit,” Leda said. “Draco, if you’re going to insist on playing games, at least pick something she might actually improve at.”

“Ouch,” Hermione said, laughing. “Always good to know that the general student impression of Leda as a stone-cold bitch isn’t wrong.”

“Was that meant to be an insult?” Leda said, placidly. “Whatever shall I do?”

Leda wasn’t entirely known for being particularly nice, although Hermione appreciated the fact that she was always honest. She had never really understood why Leda was a dog, of all things – an exquisitely beautiful, exotic wild dog, but still something canine. Draco didn’t seem the type. Then again, daemons weren’t really for the benefit of other people. They didn’t have to make sense. She suspected a lot of people didn’t understand why Xim was a lynx either.

“And to think, she likes you,” Draco said. “All right, if we’re giving up on this chess endeavor, what’s your poison? Hexagon? Pantheon?” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m not playing cards.”

“I hate cards,” Xim agreed.

“I’m good at Hexagon, which means we’ll both be bored witless,” she said. “What’s your Pantheon set like?”

“I’ve got one of the old ones,” he said. “It’ll probably hate you, I’ve never tried to play it with anyone who wasn’t a pureblood before.”

“I suppose I’ll take that dubious honor,” Hermione said. “I think we’ve got enough time to get a hand set up for Thursday.”

“Why he spends this much time doing menial potions work for you is beyond me,” Leda said.

“So you’ve got an excuse with McGonagall not to have to see students two nights a week?” Xim said.

“Magicotoxicology is only menial if you’re several levels beyond excellent at potions,” Draco said.

“Which you are,” Leda said.

“Not so many levels beyond excellent that it’s not a challenge, and there’s not a lot that challenges me these days,” Draco said.

“Yes, because we’re here instead of doing higher level research at one of the universities,” Leda said. “What could possibly be more interesting than teaching teenagers?”

“You’re in a mood,” Xim remarked. “Worse than usual, even.”

“You may be fluffy, but I still know where to put my teeth,” Leda said.

“I wouldn’t,” Xim said. “I’ve got retractable claws.”

“How about we don’t bother finding out who’d win?” Hermione said. “You two did enough of that in school.”

“You’re the one who punched Draco,” Leda said.

“He deserved it,” Hermione said. “And that was nearly two decades ago, so you could probably let it go.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, nearly undoing the tie at the base of his neck. It was a rather unfamiliar gesture; he usually never looked even the least bit out of place, let alone tired or irritated.

“Leda, enough,” he said.

Hermione had always wondered if there had been some sort of tradeoff. Draco was far easier to live with as an adult, but Leda was, if anything, more difficult. Hermione still liked her, in spite of herself, and there was something around the edges of her that made Hermione think there might be significantly more to the whole thing than she or Draco let on. But even she knew when to call it.

“I think we could get going,” Hermione said. “I mean, it’s all relatively run of the mill this week, isn’t it? No poisoning cases or anything like that. You could just owl me tomorrow.”

“If you’d like,” Draco said, leaning back in his chair to prop his feet up on the transfigured desk they’d been playing on. “On the other hand, you’ve been waiting two hours already, don’t run off on her account.”

“Stay,” Leda said, finally, after Draco had turned his head to look at her for a moment. “But no more chess.”

“I’ll get the Pantheon set,” Hermione said.

“Third shelf above my desk, the cabinet to the right,” Draco said. “Not the left, the lock’s a bit unpleasant.”

“Sticky or something?” Hermione said. “I could charm that back for you.”

“It’ll take your hand off,” Leda said. “We think it was Snape’s.”

“I’ll pass on that, then,” Hermione said, making sure to get the right cabinet. She summoned a heavy wooden box down. “This, I’m assuming?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I’ll deal the first set, otherwise it’ll probably try to cheat.”

“I can tell this is going to be delightful,” Hermione said, dryly.

Hermione had nearly completed her set up – and Ximarron had managed to secure a spot in front of the fireplace, even if Leda was still crowding him out – when Draco’s time keep spell went off.

“Damn, I’ll have to finish that next time,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “I’ve got a complicated hand.”

“Oh, you do,” Hermione said, laughing. “If I were a better player, I’d accuse the game of cheating already, but I think I just don’t know what to do with about four of the cards.”

“Maybe we’ll make it you and Leda against me and Ximarron,” he said. “She actually likes this one.”

“Granger’s smart and I’m good at the game,” Leda said, considering. “We could win. I’ll play.”

“There you go, the promise of charming painted dog company on Thursday,” Draco said, standing.

He’d devoted an entire bench to blood work for her, which Hermione was – if she was completely honest – pathetically grateful for; before someone had thought of asking Draco, she’d been outsourcing the tests and getting back utterly useless results at least half of the time, which meant the other half were worthless too. Draco’s set up was different than anything else she’d seen, but since it worked, she didn’t care beyond curiosity. There was a labeled vial at the top of each column, usually with a blood sample, although occasionally they had to make do with something like a hair cutting, and then a set of bowls below each with a complicated magical titration. It was so far beyond Hermione’s level that she suspected that Draco had come up with most of the theoretical magic himself; she’d read at least fifty books on the subject of testing for toxins in blood and had never seen anything like it.

“Nothing’s off about the first, third, fourth, and –“ He looked at the third bowl down the fifth column, tilting it. To Hermione, it looked exactly like the same clear green as the rest of the negative results. Draco poured a little into a vial and held it up to the firelight. 

“Anything interesting?” she said.

“Belladonna, I think,” Draco said. “Whatever it is, there’s not enough to have killed anyone in it. I’ll call it incidental. Your second has a lot of some sort of heavy metal, you’ll have to tell me if you want to know what it is.” He tilted the vial again, turning it. “I only perform alchemy for people I like.”

“We’ve already got a poisoning confession on that one, we just needed confirmation,” Hermione said, leaning against the opposite workbench. “Does ‘people you like’ exclude me?”

“Depends on how you play Pantheon on Thursday,” Draco said. “Damn, I don’t think this is belladonna. Let me think about it.”

“Should I submit the report as pending?” Hermione said.

“It’s not going to influence your cause of death, but for the sake of being thorough, pend it,” Draco said.

“Hmm, a puzzle,” Leda said. She’d wandered over to lean against Draco. “You like those.”

“Can I see?” Xim said.

“Yes, if you don’t knock anything over,” Draco said. “See if you can take a look in your peripheral vision.”

“I can, but it’s –“ he leapt up onto the counter, deftly avoiding Draco’s potions, and Hermione buried a hand in his fur. “There’s something off about it.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Draco said. “But honestly, you can buy just about anything in Diagon Alley these days in those bloody herbalist shops.”

“You’d think people would just use actual, working potions,” Hermione said. “But I think that would be too easy.”

“I don’t suppose I can know why the victim’s in stasis in your morgue?” Draco said.

“Once the reports are done,” Hermione said. “It’s got to stay blind for now.” The person Draco was puzzling over had been a victim of the killing curse. Hermione highly doubted it had anything to do with whatever plant Draco had found, but stranger things had happened.

“I’ll finish it up in the morning,” Draco said. “I’ve been working on this blood antigen removal draught, it’s nearly finished, but I don’t think I’ve gotten more than an hour or two of sleep the past few nights.”

“Don’t let us keep you up, then,” Hermione said. She was a little startled to realize that Leda was closer than she’d thought between them, looking up at her with slightly narrowed gold eyes and an expression Hermione wasn’t used to seeing. It looked vaguely speculative. Leda gave even less away than Draco did, so Hermione wasn’t entirely surprised when Xim leaned over her shoulder. Hermione realized that Leda wasn’t actually watching her; she was looking at Xim, who was looking back.

“You’re staring,” Hermione said, finally.

Leda shook herself off, mask falling carefully back in place. “I’m tired,” she said. “I was thinking. You were in my line of sight, Ximarron.”

“Standing where you can see him,” Draco said, amused. “That’s a new low even for you.”

Xim stretched out on the counter with a yawn, dangling a paw to brush against Leda’s nose. She didn’t, shockingly, snap at him.

“Don’t touch,” she said, but she sniffed Xim’s paw just the same.

“Now I know you’re tired,” Hermione said. “Goodnight, Draco.”

“Night,” Leda said, nudging Xim’s paw again with her nose. He was studiously looking at something on the table.

“We’ll see you Thursday,” Draco agreed.

Hermione had started out as a perfectly respectable Auror. She’d had her pick of departments when she’d tested in, but she followed Harry, who had opted for crimes against persons, presumably because seven years of nearly being murdered on a regular basis had resulted in some sort of insanity. She’d been a little surprised to realize how big the job was – for all that they were a relatively small population with a long lifespan, witches and wizards were just as fond of killing and assaulting one another as the next culture over, and they were significantly more inclined toward killing muggles, since they usually thought they could get away with it.

She’d also been surprised to realize that she liked it, even beyond getting to work with Harry. It was real and usually quite awful and it involved a lot of dealing with people she ordinarily would have very much liked to avoid. But she was good at it, and one evening after working in the department for a few months, she’d managed to get a third confession out of the third person she’d gotten in the box that day. Three for three would have been a good run even for Harry. She’d nearly run into one of the other Aurors on her way for a cup of coffee. He’d been watching her.

“Used to wonder why he wasn’t an owl or some such,” he said, gesturing at Xim. “Potter said I’d figure it out.” He considered her a moment longer. “I don’t think anything else would suit, really. You’re sort of a predator.”

“Owls are predators too, you know,” Hermione called over her shoulder as she went toward the break room.

But he wasn’t entirely wrong: Ximarron was capable of intense focus and of sitting for hours, just watching something, but he was still seventy pounds of brute force when he wanted to be. Hermione knew plenty of people who had been startled by the outcome when their daemons had stopped changing, but even at thirteen, she wasn’t entirely surprised. It had been funny to watch people other than Harry and Ron start to figure it out for themselves, mostly at the other end of her wand.

She’d liked the street work and casework and chasing down highly questionable individuals, but they’d run into a problem her second year there: the coroner for wizarding affairs had stepped down, and no one wanted to replace him. After a month, half their cases had stalled out and someone had suggested using Harry’s office for bodies in stasis spells. Apparently, having just been promoted to the sort of rank that meant you got an office meant that your office was the first to go.

“Well?” Harry had said, after he’d caught her with a stack of anatomy books for the second time that week. “Are you going to take it?”

Hermione had, with quite a few misgivings, agreed to the appointment. The first few months had been rough; wizarding pathology was, in many ways, easier than the muggle variety because she was usually conducting magical autopsies rather than physical ones, although there was a decent amount of that too. She started with the easiest cases, cramming in as much anatomy as she could get at Mungo’s and begging the mediwizards there to help her. Even if it wasn’t perfect, well, there were very few – apparently, only one – people who were willing to take a job that meant spending their days in a room full of dead people with no daemons.

She’d gotten significantly better, especially once she’d been able to hire some of the lab technicians and magicolegal investigators back; her predecessor had apparently been good at alienating employees. 

These days, she actually enjoyed her job. Unless, of course, one afternoon at said job included three people who had blown themselves to smithereens with some sort of magical pipe bomb, three bodies from Mungo’s, one muggle, cause of death undetermined although presumably related to something magical, and Harry Potter wandering into her morgue. 

“I’ve got this thing from a crypt,” he said, finishing off a sandwich. Other than the people who worked there, he was the only Auror who didn’t actually mind the autopsies. “Can I have them send it in?”

“I don’t know, is it human?” Hermione said.

“It smells human, at least,” Calix said. Xim wound around her to say hello; Hermione had always sort of found it funny that she’d ended up with the far bigger daemon when Harry sort of towered over her, but Callie – and Harry, she supposed – was undeniably a fox.

“Eighty-twenty?” Harry hazarded. “It’s really dead, whatever it is.”

“Well, then by all means,” Hermione had said, elbow deep in one of the deceased patients. She’d thoroughly regretted it later when Harry’s half-decomposed mess had turned out to be a ghoul that tried to eat one of the evidence technicians.

“Please tell me you’ve got alcohol,” Hermione said, once Draco had let her out of the cabinet in the dungeons with the connection to Auror headquarters. She hadn’t had time to come the night before, which meant that she was intruding on a Friday and asking Draco to give up his evening, but it seemed sort of unlikely that he had something better to do.

“What, for you?” Leda said. She sniffed, making a face. “Only if you take a bath. You smell like horrifying dead things.”

“I think we probably always smell like dead things,” Xim pointed out, hopping out of the cabinet.

“You smell significantly worse than usual,” Draco said, taking an involuntary step back. “Good god, I don’t know what you did with your day, but at the moment it’s just – lemon soap over putrescine. I think you might even put off some of the potions if you don’t get out of here.”

“Oh, well, sorry I spent all day doing my job,” Hermione said, feeling sort of grouchy at the distinct lack of welcome. “I’ll go. Here are the samples.”

“I didn’t say you had to go,” Leda said, coming around a cauldron with some sort of lavender, shimmering liquid in it. “In fact, that’s a terrible idea. You’ll just make somewhere else smell. But Draco can presumably charm some clothes into a smaller size for you or ask an elf. And I know the password to the Head of House bath and where the soap is for when we’re working with corpse flower. You need it.”

“I mean, that’s kind of you, but –” Hermione said, then paused. “Leda, did Draco hit you over the head?”

“No,” Leda said, after a very long pause. “If you don’t like being told how to take baths, don’t show up smelling like dead things.”

“It was more the –“ Hermione said, with a sigh. “If I say no, you’ll never be nice to me again, will you?”

“No,” Leda agreed. Xim had jumped on the back of a chair and was looking at her, pupils large. Hermione vaguely wondered if he was thinking of pouncing, which seemed like a poor choice when Leda had decided to act slightly more like a normal daemon and slightly less like her usual Slytherin self.

“Use as much of the soap as you want,” Draco suggested. “You might want to try to drown yourself in it.”

“The real question is, can I start drinking in the bath,” Hermione mused.

“I’d ask if it had been that bad,” Draco said, “but your current state suggests that it probably was.”

“Sample seven is just some sort of ghoul goo,” Hermione said. “I just need to know that it hasn’t made the morgue radioactive or something. Also, if you could refine it so I could dump a few gallons into Harry’s bed, I’d buy you nice things.”

“Please, we already have nice things,” Leda said. “But getting one over on Potter is enough of a reward for me.”

Hermione laughed. Leda and Callie still hated one another, although these days, she suspected it was because they both wanted to be the alpha female. “I have all the passwords. I’ll sneak in while he’s at work.”

“It’s twice as many samples as usual,” Xim said. “We could just take some of that soap home.”

“Or you could come over,” Draco suggested. “As much as I’m enjoying the endless chess games, the liquor stores the students don’t know about are much better.” He leaned against a workbench, looking amused. “It’s getting cold, and no one but Ximarron’s going to enjoy it down here after we’ve gotten snow, so we might as well move now.”

“All right,” Hermione said, slightly startled. Draco had never suggested waiting in his rooms before now, let alone spending time together, although she had to admit they’d already been doing that for months.

“But only after you’ve had a bath,” Leda said. “It’s behind the nixe. The password is _Lycaeon pictus_.”

“Pick that yourself?” Hermione said, amused. “Who knew daemons liked taxonomy?”

“It’s a perfectly good password that most people are too idiotic to understand, so no one’s liable to steal it, which means we don’t have to go changing it every five minutes,” Leda said. “You’re supposed to be intelligent.”

“I’m very smart,” Hermione said. “In fact, I’m so smart that I’m going to leave the problem of burning my current clothes and finding me new ones to you two.”

“You know, I don’t really know why Draco needs two baths,” Xim said, after Hermione had talked her way past the nixe, who was really rather horrifying looking out of the water. “But this one’s nice.”

Hermione wasn’t in the habit of spending much time in the dungeons, but she had to admit that she almost liked the place better than some of the more ostentatious Gryffindor versions; the whole bathroom was done in subway tile, with plain silver fixtures, and it was almost like a hothouse, though the large window showed the dark water of the lake. The plants mostly looked like things that liked heat and humidity but couldn’t be bothered one way or the other about light. Part of the pool had been blocked off for what looked like some rather large water lilies, and an entire wall was covered in ferns. Hermione didn’t bother to explore, just turning on the tap. A rack obligingly appeared out of the wall for her clothes, although as soon as Hermione hung them, it sank back into the wall as if it was in some sort of hurry. She suspected she wouldn’t be getting them back anytime soon.

“Any idea how these work?” Hermione said. There was the usual row of taps on the other side, although she suspected anything Draco Malfoy used on a regular basis probably didn’t contain unpoppable bubble foam or any one of the other ludicrous concoctions she’d encountered in other Hogwarts baths.

“No,” Xim said. He was lurking beneath a rather large prayer plant, apparently basking in the steam. “Ask Leda.”

“Yes, I’ll just wander down the hall naked,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes, and jumped when there was an irritated noise behind her.

“I hate when he makes me carry things,” Leda said, dropping a basket near the edge of the pool.

“Thank you?” Hermione said.

“There’s soap and clothes and a glass of scotch,” she said. “Draco says it’s a decent year, so don’t down the whole thing at once.”

“I think I can live with that,” Hermione said, climbing down the stairs into the bath and ignoring Leda’s eyes on her.

“The soap’s on the far left,” Leda said. “No, not that one. The next over.”

“That was the left tap,” Hermione said, but she went one to the right. It put out very pale grey soap that smelled vaguely of charcoal and thyme. It didn’t really foam, but once enough of it had gone into the bath, Hermione ducked underneath to get wet and came up feeling markedly better.

“Maybe we can get some of that to take home,” Xim said. “Or for the showers at work.”

“May I come in?” Leda said, and Hermione paused. 

It wasn’t because Leda seemed perfectly happy spending time away from Draco; all witches and wizards had a longer range with their daemons. Although it usually led to quite a few questions for muggleborns during childhood, it wasn’t uncommon for wizarding daemons to like spending time alone or with other people. It had never bothered her liked it seemed to bother her parents when Xim was in another room or outside hunting mice at night. Seeing a daemon without their person was rather commonplace for her, but Leda asking permission for much of anything was strange. Ximarron usually preferred to bathe himself, so having a daemon offering to climb in the bath with her didn’t feel normal either.

“Yes?” Hermione said.

“Good,” Leda said, approvingly. She stepped in carefully, and the pool obligingly created some sort of underwater ledge for her. “Draco never comes in here. And I hate showers.”

“I’m not really planning on making a habit of it,” Hermione said, dryly, but she found the glass in the basket and leaned back until some of the jets were getting the sore spot in her lower back from constantly bending over tables.

“Maybe you should,” Leda said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione said, then paused. “Leda, you don’t actually like me. You seem to have forgotten.”

Xim made a slightly annoyed noise from his plant fortress. “Yes, she does.”

“You’ve got a rather insulting way of showing it, then,” Hermione said.

“Of course I like you,” Leda said, looking at her like she was an idiot. “I wouldn’t let you spend so much time with him if I didn’t.”

“Slytherins,” Hermione said, with a sigh, although she was suddenly fairly certain that Leda’s attitude meant that she and Draco were probably – friends. It was a slightly horrifying thought, although not as awful as she’d once have found it. He’d changed a lot since seventeen, and if she was honest, so had she.

“Yes,” Leda said, considering her. “You should probably know Draco’s very perfect.”

“I think Xim would say the same thing about me,” Hermione said, laughing. “You’re all biased.”

“Not like that,” Leda said. “We’re good at being perfect. We don’t show it if we aren’t.”

“Meaning?” Hermione said.

“If he’s not perfect with you, it means he trusts you,” Leda said. “Don’t take that for granted.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Hermione said, after a pause. “But most of us aren’t perfect. That’s sort of the point of having people who care about you. They don’t mind.”

Leda snorted. “We always mind,” she said. “That’s why I don’t like many people.”

“Liar,” Xim said, amused, stalking out of the plants. He stretched out on the edge, draping his paws over Hermione’s shoulders. “You’re just worried they won’t like you back.”

“Gryffindor,” Leda said.

“Before you two get into it, am I decently clean?” Hermione said. “I’d sort of like to refill this.”

“You smell all right,” Leda said. “I think there are clothes in the basket. They might be Pansy’s.”

Hermione didn’t bother to ask why Draco had Pansy’s clothes lying around his rooms – it wasn’t a question that was all that difficult to figure out the answer to, really. She had to spell the blouse a little bigger and the jeans a little shorter, but it worked, mostly.

“Coming?” she asked Xim.

“In a little bit,” he said, looking at Leda.

“I suppose you’re staying too?” Hermione said.

“Yes,” Leda said. “Play nice without us for a bit. He said to tell you it’s the portrait of Cassiopeia. She knows to let you in.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said.

Draco had his back to her when she let herself in through the portrait, mixing something at the sideboard.

“Your daemon’s being strange again,” she said, dryly, moving to stand in front of the fire. The castle had stolen her shoes along with everything else, and walking up a dungeon hall and down a flight of stairs on cold stone hadn’t been particularly enjoyable.

“She usually is,” Draco said. “More of that? Wine?”

“Wine,” Hermione said. He had something that looked as if it involved gin and about ten other ingredients. Drinking with people who liked potions could be a rather risky endeavor. “But not –“

“I know, you can’t stand white,” Draco said. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Hermione wondered if he was referring to Leda, then realized he was trying to ask about her day. “God, nothing that bad,” she said, laughing. “It was just busy. And Calix apparently can’t tell a dead human body if it hits her over the head.”

Draco offered her a glass of wine, and Hermione looked over his shoulder, finally stepping away from the fire long enough to get a feeling for the room. Most of the walls were lined with bookshelves, which wasn’t really a surprise, and there were quite a few furs that Hermione suspected were for Leda’s benefit. He had a sectional, which she assumed was probably also for Leda to lounge around on, and two armchairs arranged near the fire.

“Every class I had today managed to blow something up,” Draco said, sitting in an arm chair. “And I’m still operating on next to no sleep.”

“I thought you were finished with that potion,” Hermione said, coming to stretch out on the couch. Her back still hurt.

“I am,” Draco said, turning his glass in the firelight. “I’d like to say I’m not sleeping because of the potions, but sometimes I think maybe the potions are because I’m not sleeping.”

“If only there were potions for that,” Hermione said, amused. “You could answer the question once and for all.”

“Very funny,” Draco said. “Those make me… less sharp, I don’t like them.”

“I don’t either,” Hermione admitted. “Then again, I’m usually so tired by the time I get home that it’s more a matter of making sure I get up again the next morning.”

“At least you don’t have to be up tomorrow,” Draco said, amused.

“My patients aren’t going to get any more dead,” she agreed, straight-faced.

“If they do, that would probably be a problem for the Unspeakables,” Draco agreed.

Hermione was perfectly happy to try a game of Pantheon, but by her third or fourth glass of wine, the fact that the set hated her wasn’t really making a difference. Leda and Xim had returned at some point, but they were both at least pretending to be asleep on some of the rugs in front of Draco’s exceptionally large fireplace.

“Seventh position, with –“ Draco said, considering. “I’ve got rituals and pagan idolatry.”

“I’ve got a cleric there,” Hermione said. “No, wait, the cleric’s in sixth, but I’ve got that Egyptian sun god thing in fifth. That cancels out, doesn’t it?”

“Nice defense,” Draco said, amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to win.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk to prevent that from happening,” Hermione said, laughing.

“You have the wine bottle,” Draco pointed out. “Although I could open another if you like.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. “I’m already too far in to Apparate home.” She considered her glass. “Is it being presumptuous if I ask if I can have the couch? I probably should have thought of that before.”

“You can have the bed,” Draco said, dryly, popping the cork on another bottle. Leda lifted her head. “And you can go back to sleep, Leda.”

“I’m just going to figure out my next play, you know, in my head,” Hermione said, vaguely, finding a spot near Leda and Xim to stretch out on one of the fur rugs near the fire.

“A likely excuse,” Draco said. Hermione only realized he was definitely at least a little drunk himself when he stretched out next to her. Her glass refilled itself.

“I’m winning this hand,” she pointed out, then winced. Six autopsies in one day was really past her limit.

“Hermione?” Draco said. He actually looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, leaning up to take another sip of her wine. “I keep forgetting to spell the autopsy tables shorter for myself, then regretting it.”

“Oh, well,” Draco said. He considered, setting his glass down somewhere to her right, and brushed his thumb over her hip. “Here?”

“Sort of,” Hermione said. “More my back.”

She kept still; Leda had been right that Draco was rarely anything less than perfectly put together, but he was looking at her in a way he usually reserved for complex potions. She realized she didn’t like how exhausted he looked. It made her want to do something about it.

“I could help with that, you know,” Draco said. “I think I’ve got an entire cabinet of muscle relaxers.”

“You would,” Hermione said.

“Or other things,” Draco said. He stroked his hand casually up her side, almost affectionate. Hermione leaned into his touch. Xim had inched close enough that his back was pressed against Leda’s, which somehow meant that Hermione apparently didn’t entirely mind if Draco touched her either. Besides, he’d had more than a few drinks too, and Hermione realized that she’d never even seen Draco touch someone casually.

“And you?” she said. “You look tired.”

“He’s fine,” Leda said. “It’s just sleep.”

“Oh, just,” Hermione said. “You could go to bed.”

“I could,” Draco agreed, looking at her. “I’m not particularly tired at the moment, though.”

“There’s your problem,” Hermione said, almost fondly. “You ought to be.”

“You know,” Draco said, tracing his fingers over her side again, almost absentmindedly. “I was thinking.”

“Oh?” Hermione said.

“Chess isn’t the only thing I’m good at,” he said.

“What, are you proposing checkers now?” Hermione said, laughing. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s going to have to wait until next time. I don’t think I could figure out how to jump pieces at the moment.”

“I was proposing sex, actually,” Draco said.

“ _What_?” Hermione said.

“Sex,” Draco said, amused. “I’m fairly certain you’ve tried it.”

“Of course I’ve –“ Hermione paused. She’d had a little too much wine to manage any sort of outrage, and if she was honest, she wasn’t sure she would have anyway. “Why are we talking about sex?”

“Mm,” Draco said, stroking his thumb over her hip again. “Do you know how many people Leda will even tolerate?”

“Not many?” Hermione hazarded. “But –“ Her head wasn’t particularly clear. “You and Pansy?”

“God, no,” Draco said, amused. “She’s not really my type.”

“It’s a wonder he even managed to bring this up, honestly,” Leda said, standing up. Hermione found herself looking up into Leda’s black mask, her muzzle only a few inches away. “You ought to be interested.”

“Yes, that’s exactly how that works, Leda,“ Hermione said. “Look, are you trying to ask me out on a date or something?”

“No,” Draco said. “You can’t think we’d be particularly good together. But we do spend four hours a week waiting around on test results.” He looked amused. “It had sort of occurred to me that the time might be put to better use than chess.”

“You don’t want to date me, but you want to fuck me?” Hermione said. She laughed. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“No,” Draco said. “Look, it’s impossible for me to meet anyone here, but even if I could, I’ve got enough things to do already.” He rolled onto his side, looking at her eyes, then her mouth. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t things I don’t miss about dating. And you…” He considered. “You work more than I do. Which probably means you don’t have much time for dating either.”

“I’m not getting asked for coffee every five minutes, no,” Hermione said, dryly.

“Well,” Draco said. “I’d sort of like to be having significantly more sex than I’m currently having, how about you?”

Hermione laughed. “That’s not really something I…“ She paused. “I don’t think about it that much.”

“Oh,” Draco said. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the way he was looking at her. Leda had laid down near her side, and if Hermione had reached out a hand, she could have touched her.

“It’s not you, it’s just that I don’t, really –“ Hermione said. “I’m flattered, but –“

“I think I might be making the wrong argument,” he said, tangling a hand in her hair. Hermione realized that his face was only a few inches from hers.

“Oh?” she said, in spite of herself.

“Mm,” Draco said. He was still looking at her mouth. “You’re smart and rather funny and incredibly attractive. Someone ought to be giving you exactly what you want in bed.”

“Historically, that hasn’t really -” Hermione started.

“Oh, fuck historically,” Draco said, and kissed her.

He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her in, warm and somehow utterly in control of the entire thing. He tasted a little like gin, and Hermione realized she’d wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down a moment after she’d actually done it. She could feel every place they were pressed together, his chest and stomach against hers, his hand moving down to cup her jaw, his mouth – Hermione had spent plenty of time kissing Ron, and it had been enjoyable. There had been people since, and even Harry, once, at the stupid office Christmas party, but it was – Draco kissed differently, starting something that settled in the pit of her stomach. It was a lot, but somehow, Hermione realized that she still wanted more.

“I –“ she said, a little dizzily. “I’m drunk, you’re drunk –“

“I’m not,” Xim said. “And I’m perfectly capable of consenting on your behalf, which I do, since you want to say yes.”

“So does he,” Leda said. “Besides, I like being touched, and it’s not like it has to be true love for that.”

“But –“ Hermione said, suddenly distracted from Draco’s mouth at her neck.

“It never occurred to you that Slytherins might have different rules?” Leda said, coming over to her. “It feels good. Why on earth would you say no to that?”

“I’m not sure you’re really supposed to,” Hermione said. Leda laughed.

“Xim, have you ever let anyone touch you?” she said.

“Only when being carried out of dungeons,” Xim said, dryly. “I think there may be better circumstances.”

“Much,” Leda said. “Do you want to?”

“You’re used to it, let her touch you first,” Ximarron said, but he came away from the fire.

“I really sort of think we ought to talk about –“ Hermione said, when Leda pressed her muzzle against her palm.

It felt a little like touching Draco, but it was simultaneously nothing like that at all. Leda was suddenly closer than Draco had been, completely in Hermione’s space, but Hermione didn’t mind. Distracted, she touched up and over Leda’s head, then down over her shoulder.

“You’re soft,” she said, startled, and Draco threw his head back and laughed.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not making any promises about getting you into the bedroom,” he warned.

“God, it’s like that?” Hermione said, then paused. It suddenly felt exactly like that, like she wanted him exactly that badly. “Xim, are you –“

“Very sure,” he said. He looked perfectly calm, and Hermione realized after a moment that it was because he was.

“This whole thing is off limits for a lot of very stupid reasons,” Draco said, reaching over her to stroke his open palm over Xim’s back. “Mostly you could chalk it up to Victorian sensibilities.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Hermione said. She suddenly felt as if every nerve ending had turned toward Draco, somehow, and it really wasn’t enough.

“Well?” Draco said. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not good at this, I am.”

“I can’t think when you’re doing that,” she said. Draco leaned up so he could use both hands. Xim was nearly purring.

“That’s entirely the point,” he said. “Although I can certainly make you feel a lot better than just this.”

“Oh, really,” Hermione said, lightly, and Draco’s gaze turned over into something predatory.

“You know exactly how good I am at chess,” he said. “Want to find out how good I am at this?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Hermione said, trying to get a little of her own back by running her hands over Leda, though she was fairly certain it wasn’t helping anything.

“When I said he doesn’t like being anything less than perfect,” Leda murmured, dropping her head close to Hermione’s, until Hermione was looking into her very clear amber eyes. “I meant that you shouldn’t think it’s costing him nothing to ask.”

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“Quit telling secrets,” Draco said, amused. It was obvious he couldn’t hear. “Hermione, I’m not asking for any reason other than I think I’d like it and so would you. I don’t really have ulterior motives here.”

Hermione considered a moment longer, then rolled on her side, pushing Xim out of the way until she could press up against Draco. “I think maybe you should tell me more about how you’d like it,” she said, reaching a hand up to undo the tie holding his hair back.

“Right here, right now?” he said, laughing. “Or, I suppose, my bed’s right through that door.” He dipped his head to nuzzle her throat. “Or both.”

“I mean, if we’re doing this,” Hermione said. “You probably ought to know that I don’t usually settle for being less than excellent at anything.” She reached, no longer feeling particularly tentative, and spread her fingers out, palm against the small of his back. “You know exactly how good _I_ am at everything other than chess.”

“I do, actually,” Draco said, looking amused. “Why do you think I asked if you wanted to have sex? I’m not that altruistic.”

Hermione really hadn’t been sure, but based on the look he was giving her and the way Leda had pressed against her back, she supposed it might be obvious.

“You think you’d enjoy being in bed with me,” she said. She’d had sex before, because it was what you did or because Ron had wanted to. Plenty of times had been because she’d wanted to, but it had never turned out the way she’d expected, exactly. She had a sneaking suspicion that sex entirely for the sake of having sex wasn’t likely to be like that.

“I do,” Draco said. “Although I’d probably like it better if you thought you’d enjoy having sex with me too.”

“Of course I think that,” Hermione said, laughing. “You’re Draco fucking Malfoy.”

“Oh, well,” Draco said, laughing too, though Leda had suddenly gone still.

“Not like that,” Hermione said, reaching to pull him closer. “I like –“ She bent her head to kiss the curve of his neck, exploring his shoulder blades with her hand. “Leda, it’s not about the _name_.”

“Sometimes it is,” Leda said.

“I’m not like that,” Hermione said, trying to clear her head. It was nearly impossible with Draco so close. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Relax,” Draco said. “I know why we’re friends. Leda ought to.”

“She thinks he’s appealing all on his own,” Xim said, amused. He leapt over Draco, stretching out on her other side in front of the fire. “Leda, come here.”

“I’m fine here,” she said.

“No, come _here_ ,” Xim said. Hermione was startled when Leda moved.

“Oh, all right,” she said, lying down next to him and letting Xim get close.

“Just let them,” he said. He murmured something so low that Hermione couldn’t hear, and Leda laughed, sounding almost warm.

“If you insist,” she said.

“She’s not actually unfriendly,” Draco said, looking a little amused. “Just selective.”

Hermione considered, reaching up to stroke his hair out of his face. “I actually just meant that I know you, and I’ve… seen you around women. And you’re sort of detail oriented,” she said, amused. “With the chess and the potions and all.” She looked down, then up again. “Not to mention that you’re –“ She paused. “Thorough. And a Slytherin.”

“Oh, very,” Draco said, laughing. He’d relaxed again. “Guilty on all counts.”

“I would absolutely let you have me in the next five minutes,” Hermione said. “On the other hand, if I can do something to make sure you actually sleep…” She ran her fingers through his hair, stopping to stroke her thumb over the nape of his neck. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think Leda may be losing her mind. Can you even say yes or no right now? Alcohol aside.”

“Yes,” Leda said. “I wouldn’t have let him ask if he was just asking because he was tired.”

“You, here,” Ximarron said, low enough that it was nearly a growl. Hermione was startled at the sudden rush of irritated possessiveness.

“Interesting,” Draco said, though he was looking at her and not their daemons. “She usually doesn’t let anyone push her around.”

“I’m not letting –“ Leda said. Xim rumbled a warning, and she paused, then made a point of turning away from them.

“I genuinely appreciate the concern,” Draco said, glancing at Leda. “But I wasn’t offering to have sex next week. So don’t try to play nice.”

Hermione decided that, at some point, she was going to have to take him at face value, even if the whole thing didn’t make very much sense. And Xim was nearly always cautious. He’d never let her even approach anything that was over her head. So she was fairly confident that even if the whole thing was a novel idea, it probably wasn’t a bad one.

“Should we talk about –“ Hermione said.

Draco snorted. “If you’re somehow less careful than I am about pregnancy and all the rest of it, let me know, but otherwise I’m going to assume we can just trust each other about it. You don’t strike as the sort of witch who’s less than prepared about that sort of thing.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said. She did her best not to look offended.

“Then I think we’re okay,” Draco said, looking sort of like he was trying not to smile.

“Rules?” she said, finally.

“Just one,” Draco said. “Ask for what you want.”

“In that case, your five minutes started two minutes ago,” Hermione said.

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Draco said, amused. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in hard against him. Hermione let her back arch, sliding a leg over his hip, but they were both wearing too damn many clothes. Draco reached up to undo the buttons on her blouse, hands practiced and sure, and Hermione broke away from kissing him, breathless, to yank his shirt over his head. He undid the button on her jeans and she kicked them off, biting hard at his lower lip as she unbuckled his belt, shoving his jeans and boxers low enough that he could get out of them.

“Down, girl,” Draco said, laughing.

Hermione got her hands on his shoulders to push him down, sliding her knee over so she could straddle him. She pulled his hands up, pinning his wrists over his head, and leaned in, her nose a few inches from his. “What were you saying?” she said.

“No idea,” Draco said. He was staring.

“It sounded like you wanted me to stop,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “I could probably wait until Tuesday, what do you think?”

“Probably should’ve seen that one coming, Draco,” Leda said.

“What am I going to have to do to get you to leave them alone?” Xim said, sounding amused and exasperated.

“I always –“ Leda started.

Hermione stopped paying attention, at least partially because Xim had interrupted Leda, but it was more that Draco had taken advantage of how close she was, capturing her mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss. He was arching against her hands, keeping eye contact the whole time.

“Let go,” he suggested, low, and Hermione laughed.

“Says you,” she said. “If you think I can’t hold you down all night –“

Draco flipped them, suddenly, his weight pushing her down into the fur. She was startled to realize he’d somehow managed to get a hand between her back and the rug, pressing his palm up against her spine until her back arched. He bent his head to nip at her neck, sliding his free hand over her ribs then up to cup her breast.

“Next time,” he said, so she wrapped her legs around his waist, burying her hands in his hair.

“I think you’ve still got about ten seconds,” she said, lightly. Draco’s laugh against her throat was warm, but it had an edge that made her wonder what the hell she’d gotten into.

She spread her legs to give him more room and he thrust into her, holding her hips tight against his. Hermione swore under her breath, yanking him down for another long kiss. She remembered what it had felt like when he had touched Xim, electric but somehow not enough, and realized that this was the somewhat inevitable conclusion. His gaze was focused on her face, so Hermione kissed him again, moving under him until he took the hint and thrust deeper. She stopped trying to analyze it and let her hands explore his shoulders, feeling him move. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, then she realized she couldn’t breathe for an entirely different reason. It felt _satisfying_ , and if she’d thought she didn’t like hard and fast sex, well – they hadn’t been doing it like this. He stroked up her spine, getting her to arch into him again, then got his hand between them so the heel of his palm was up against her clit, hard pressure every time either of them moved.

It took a while before she could feel herself getting close, heavy in the pit of her stomach. Draco was panting against her mouth, his rhythm starting to get a little less sure, and the fact that he was just _waiting_ on her like it was some sort of foregone conclusion that not only was she going to get off, she was going to get off first, was somehow enough to make her come. It was hard and unexpectedly very, very good, and she was fairly certain it had happened more than once by the time Draco buried his face against her shoulder and came too.

“Fuck,” he said, finally, a moment later, when he’d rolled off and was panting beside her on the rug.

“Well,” Hermione said, staring at the ceiling, which apparently contained a rather large skylight to the middle of the lake, “that wasn’t what I was expecting to do with my Friday night.”

“Me either,” Draco said.

Hermione laughed. “You came up with the idea.”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes,” Draco said.

“But I did,” Hermione said. “Do you think we could do that again? I don’t know, in about five minutes?”

“Oh god,” Draco said, starting to laugh. “You’re going to kill me.”

“You’ll probably enjoy it,” Hermione said.

“Quit making reasonable arguments,” Draco said, rolling back over to cup her jaw in his hand.

“Oh, but I like them,” Hermione said. She realized she was, quite possibly, a little giddy.

“I know, but shut up so I can kiss you,” Draco said.

“That’s definitely a reasonable argument,” Hermione said, and pulled him down.

They had sex three more times – again by the fire, then in Draco’s ridiculously ornate bed, and he’d finally shoved her up against the tile in the shower and gotten her off with his mouth. Then he’d lifted her and held her against the wall, fucking her until Hermione was finally too shaky to stand. She was starting to feel slightly concerned about what he’d do when he wasn’t nearly falling over from lack of sleep, because he’d barely even noticed picking her up.

“I can’t decide if we should do that again or if I’m going to pass out if we try,” he said, when they’d both come again and he’d let her down, still pressing her against the tile. His face was buried against her neck.

“God, go to bed,” Hermione said, laughing.

“Come with me,” Draco offered, nuzzling her throat.

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said. She was fairly certain he’d meant to start something, but once he slid under the sheets, she saw his eyes start to close.

“I’m just going to,” he said, vaguely, grabbing at a pillow, and she snorted, because he was already asleep.

Xim and Leda still hadn’t appeared, so Hermione pulled on Draco’s dressing gown and went back into the sitting room. She wanted a glass for water, and although she was very, very tired, she was still a little too keyed up to sleep.

“Xim?” she said. They were on the couch.

“He’s asleep,” Leda said, sounding drowsy herself.

“That makes two of them,” Hermione said, sitting down next to her.

“It was my idea, you know,” Leda said. She sounded slightly smug.

“We both know you wouldn’t have had it if he hadn’t already thought about it,” Hermione said, laughing. “But I’m flattered. Really. I didn’t know you liked me so much.”

“Shut it,” Leda said, but there wasn’t anything behind it.

“Is it always like that?” Hermione said. “The touching, I mean.”

“It tends to get his attention, yes,” Leda said, dryly. “If you’re asking about the rest of it, I don’t know, I wasn’t allowed to pay attention.”

“You’re almost cute when you’re pretending that you hated being outmatched,” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t outmatched,” Leda said. “I just decided to let him.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Hermione said. She bit the corner of her mouth, but Leda had a way of seeing through her, anyway. “The whole actually enjoying sex thing is sort of new for me, so I don’t know if Xim was… you were all right, weren’t you? I suppose we shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“Oh, please,” Leda said. “It’s not going to turn Ximarron into a different daemon, you idiot. It’s just sex. If he’s different, it’s because Draco’s different. That’s all.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione said. “I’ve just had more of that in one night than I used to have in a month.”

“Stop that,” Leda said, and Hermione was a little surprised when she shoved her muzzle against Hermione’s hand. “He likes you. I like you. No one’s going to mind if you want more.” She looked vaguely pleased. “I’d want to spend more time with us too, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Hermione laughed. “Since this is new, you can’t call me an idiot if I ask if touching you will wake him up and – all right, I wouldn’t mind doing that again, but maybe not tonight.”

“You won’t wake him up,” Leda said, with a yawn. “And for the record, it wasn’t different because you touched me or because he touched Xim.”

“Probably not,” Hermione said, running her fingers through her fur. “Does Draco always –“

“Hermione,” Leda interrupted “Stop thinking about it and go to bed.”

“I sort of wanted Xim to come with me,” she said, reaching to bury a hand in Ximarron’s thick ruff. “I don’t want to go to bed alone.”

“Draco’s in there, that’s not alone,” Leda said, but she yawned again and climbed off the sofa. “But I suppose we might as well.”

“Mm, I’m awake,” Xim said, with an equally large yawn, rolling over onto his back.

“You can sleep on my head if you want,” Hermione offered. He liked to, and she almost never let him, mostly because he tended to purr loudly enough to wake her up if she used him as a pillow.

“I want,” Xim said. He stood, climbing half into her lap to rub his face against hers, and she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“Sorry, Leda’s trouble,” he said. “I’ll stay closer next time.”

“Says the daemon who wouldn’t let me go find them,” Leda retorted, making Xim snort.

“You deserved it,” he said. “Come on, let’s go sleep past lunch.”

Hermione hadn’t had doubts, exactly – all right, she’d had doubts – but it turned out that the whole thing wasn’t terrible on a longer-than-one night basis. She’d thrown out Draco’s idiotic pretense about killing time while waiting for potions after a week or two, and then it had turned out that life really was sort of significantly better when you were having ridiculous amounts of insanely good sex. The company wasn’t entirely bad either, since Draco turned out to be very different than she’d expected once he finally let his guard down. He was funny and given to constantly stealing books on his way out of her flat. Leda was still sharp-edged, but Hermione started to understand her – she was prickly and defensive, but she was also utterly loyal and almost sweet when she cared about someone, which apparently applied to Xim in addition to Draco. Draco liked to cook, and Hermione really wasn’t going to complain about getting fed ridiculously complicated dishes a few nights a week. She slept over sometimes, but he never complained if she just wanted to go home and read. 

And, well – Draco wasn’t afraid to ask for exactly what he wanted, and after a few weeks of pointed glances from Leda, Hermione figured out that he really had meant the whole thing about her getting what she liked too. He never complained if she didn’t like something, either, and he was never offended over anything. It was serious, occasionally, but usually they could laugh about it, which Hermione thought was a much better way of having sex than anything else she’d tried before. She didn’t mind the other pieces, curling up with Leda to read if she came over too early while Draco was working on potions, or having someone to keep her bed warm in the middle of winter. And her lab work certainly got turned around significantly more quickly.

For Christmas, he came up with a potion that somehow combined a hypothermia draught with an everlasting spell that was meant to keep silver or jewelry from tarnishing. She wasn’t sure how he’d even thought of it, but he slyly presented her with four pairs of perpetually warm socks and a blanket, looking very pleased with himself. Xim got several extra strong catnip mice, which he’d been slightly outraged over until he’d gotten hilariously stoned from trying to carry them out of the room in disgust. 

Hermione gave Draco a bottle of his favorite gin, a new Perfectly Neutral cauldron, and a collection of all the types of blood she’d been able to cross-match as potions ingredients. She’d gotten some from a vampire, a serial killer (apparently ‘blood of evil’ was both broadly interpreted and used in more potions than Hermione was entirely comfortable with), and even a virgin at the full moon, which had taken some doing. Since she’d made sure to get consent from relatives for all of it, it was all, from a magical standpoint, freely given. Draco had been very happy with the gift, if the amount of sex they’d had that weekend was any indication.

Harry had nearly caught them in her office at the Ministry New Year’s party, and he’d also spent most of the night speculatively eyeing the leftover mistletoe that kept creeping off the doorway and toward where they were standing.

Leda and Calix had worked out some sort of arrangement where one of them was usually doing something fascinating on the other side of the room, which had meant that Harry and Draco had both spent the evening with her, albeit somewhat warily.

“Is there something going on with you two?” Harry said, finally, when Draco had gone to get another round of drinks. “He’s being almost nice.”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione had said, rolling her eyes. “Malfoy?”

“Shockingly, I’m willing to put up with Gryffindors for research opportunities,” Draco had said. “Don’t get any ideas, Potter.”

Leda had come over sort of touchy and refused to visit the table after that, even though Harry and Draco had nearly been getting along. Hermione had gone to check her make up and had come back to a rather animated discussion about the Montrose Magpies.

“Malfoy’s all right,” Harry had said, helping her into her coat at the end of the night. “Do you want to share a cab back to your place? Champagne or something?”

“I’m tired, but thanks,” Hermione said. She didn’t really want to explain that Draco was already at her flat; he’d left half an hour before for the sake of appearances.

As it turned out, the general tradition of ringing in the new year while slightly tipsy and very naked had some merit.

Near the end of January, after the start of the new term, she found an owl sitting on her office chair after she’d finished with an autopsy. There was a note from Draco.

_Reschedule for sample testing?_ it said. _I’m not feeling well._

“Well, blow that for a game of soldiers,” she said. “I just won’t take the blood with me.”

“He’s probably sulking around refusing to take Pepper Up because it might impede his potion making ability,” Xim agreed.

“Or Leda’s killed him by now,” Hermione said.

She had to finish one more vivisection. She got through it, although waiting until eight to go to Hogwarts made her sort of antsy.

When she got there, the dungeon was completely dark, so she headed for Draco’s rooms, feeling slightly suspicious. She found Draco bundled in several blankets on the sofa, and Leda was so close to the fire she was nearly in it.

“Damn it,” he said, when he saw her. “I told you not to bother coming. I can’t work in the lab right now.” He paused. “And I am most assuredly not up for anything involving you and my bedroom.”

“Did you think I’d care?” Hermione said. She was surprised to find that she was a little angry at the idea that Draco really hadn’t noticed they’d been friends for months.

“Maybe,” he said. “All right, Leda said you wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sort of useless.”

“Idiot,” Xim said. 

Leda was asleep, but she woke up when he touched her nose with his. “Oh, good, you ignored him. I feel terrible.”

“Why haven’t you taken anything?” Hermione said. Draco’s forehead was hot against the back of her palm.

“I did,” Draco said. He sounded both tired and extremely irritated. “It didn’t work. There’s this idiotic flu going around that doesn’t seem to be fixable with the usual potion. I was about to start brewing a new version, but –“ He pulled the blankets closer. “Obviously I didn’t get to it. I got through classes, but I don’t think I’m going to be good for much else tonight. You should go home.”

“Or I could stay, since I’m not an absolute monster who’s just using you for sex and your potions skills,” Hermione said. She’d have been more irritated with him if he didn’t look sort of pathetic.

“I think you’ve made her mad,” Leda said, somewhere underneath Xim, who was grooming her neck.

“I didn’t mean to imply –“ Draco said, looking startled.

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, stroking her fingers through his hair. “Or, well, I’ll save yelling at you about it for later.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, sounding genuine. “For offering to stay, I mean.”

“For staying,” Hermione corrected. She felt his forehead again. “Does anything work on this? I mean, to bring the fever down?”

“It seems stubbornly magic resistant,” Draco admitted. “I tried that too.”

“And you were just planning on sitting here on the couch all night?” Hermione said.

“Yes, but I would’ve sneaked off and owled for help,” Leda said.

“What, were you going to use a quill?” Draco said. “And, come to think of it, the owlery’s out of your range from me if I’m here.”

“I didn’t say I had an excellent plan put together,” Leda said. “I was hoping Hermione would be more sensible than you and show up, which she did.”

“I think I’ve got a bottle of paracetamol in my purse,” Hermione said.

“What?” Draco said.

“Remind me to bring you some muggle medication to analyze to your heart’s content when you’re better,” Hermione said, dryly. “It’s a pill, it’ll bring down your fever.”

“I might like that better than fever reducing potion, actually, it doesn’t taste like quinine,” Draco said, speculatively, after he’d taken the pills.

“I’ll bring you a whole bottle, then,” Hermione said, amused. She tugged at his blanket. “Go get in the bath. You’ll be less sore. And the steam won’t hurt anything. Xim can make sure you don’t drown, I’ll make soup.”

“Babysitting sick Slytherins, how delightful,” Xim said, but he didn’t really sound particularly put out.

“I knew you’d have a better plan than sitting around on the couch,” Leda said, coming up to put her head in Hermione’s lap.

“You’re warm,” Hermione said, rubbing behind her ears. “I think you’ll feel better if he does, though.”

“That’s usually how that works, yes,” Leda said, but she’d relaxed a little. “I’m going with them.” She glanced at Draco. “I’d rather stay close.”

“I think I can make soup on my own,” Hermione said.

“The elves can make soup,” Draco said, but Hermione rolled her eyes.

“The elves can give me ingredients for soup,” she corrected. Draco didn’t mind the Hogwarts cooking, but he was sort of given to complaining that it was under seasoned and overcooked.

“I can’t even taste anything,” Draco said. Hermione had gotten relatively good at reading him, and if he hadn’t said she shouldn’t, it usually meant he wanted her to do something but was being stubborn about asking.

“Well, I can, and I’ll eat some,” Hermione said.

“I suppose I can’t actually stop you,” Draco said.

“Sadly, no,” Hermione said. He shrugged off the rest of the blankets.

“Are you really still in your teaching robes?” she said, trying not to laugh.

“It was cold,” Draco muttered.

“You were running a fever,” Hermione corrected. “Take something to change into.”

“What is it with you and bossing everyone around?” Draco said, sounding irritated.

“You liked it last week,” Hermione teased.

“Draco,” Leda said, firmly, moving her head to his lap. “We care about each other. Quit pretending like we don’t.”

“Stop being recalcitrant,” Xim agreed. He hopped on the couch to shove his head against Draco’s shoulder affectionately. “Harry’s always getting sick from lurking around cemeteries and falling into lakes, she makes him soup too.”

“I bet even Calix gets soup,” Leda said. “And she’s insufferable.”

“I’m not really sure you ought to be comparing me to Potter,” Draco said. “It’s not the same thing. Unless there’s something I don’t know about how Hermione’s spending the nights we don’t see her.”

“You’re seriously overestimating my sex drive,” Hermione said, lightly.

“That wasn’t a no,” Draco said. “You said you’d tell me if – “

“If you’re being ridiculous?” Hermione said, laughing. “You are. I don’t have time to be sleeping with anyone else.” 

Hermione didn’t particularly feel like mentioning that she also didn’t have any inclination to sleep with anyone else; she was, quite possibly, ruined for other people who weren’t as good in bed. But telling Draco that was just likely to lead to him looking smug all week. It was sort of rare for him to be so argumentative, which she suspected meant he was feeling worse than he was letting on.

“Quit acting so –“ Xim said, then stopped. He was looking at Draco almost thoughtfully.

“Look, I’m cold, and I can’t get the taps on, so I can’t leave you all here to argue,” Leda said. She looked sort of miserable.

“Really, go,” Hermione said. “I’ll be right here when you get back. With soup and tea, even.”

Xim basically had to herd Draco out the portrait, but he managed somehow. Hermione found Draco’s stock pot and put a list in the cupboard that went to the kitchens. She waited for a few minutes and opened it to find ingredients. The house elves had apparently gotten used to Draco, who had kept sending things back if they weren’t in whole pieces because he didn’t like how the elves diced carrots. Hermione had to cut up the chicken and vegetables herself, but she didn’t mind. She got the stock started with the chicken and a little wine, setting it up with a timing spell so the vegetables and noodles would add themselves at the right moment, and put the kettle on.

She’d gotten the fire back up and had found a station on the wireless, and by the time she heard the portrait open back up, she was already mixing honey and lemon into Draco’s mug of tea. He didn’t say anything, and she turned after a moment to find him staring.

“Just because you insist on doing all the cooking doesn’t mean I’m bad at it,” Hermione said, amused.

“Move, I’m going to get chilled and probably die of pneumonia,” Leda said, shoving him forward as she came through the portrait.

“I think it’ll be about half an hour on the soup,” Hermione said. “But I made tea.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, going to sit on the couch again. Leda looked better, at least, but Draco still wasn’t acting like anything close to his usual self.

“This will help,” Hermione said, settling beside him. She laughed. “I might always lose at Pantheon, but on the upside, I did have to live through eleven years with no potions, so at least I’m not utterly terrible at being sick.”

“That’s barbaric,” Draco muttered, but he took the mug of tea. Xim went to stretch out on the back of the sofa behind Draco, draping himself around his shoulders like a stole.

“You can relax,” he murmured. “Quit being all tied in knots when there’s nothing to even worry about.”

“Well, if Xim’s going to be all over him,” Leda said, jumping onto the sofa. Hermione promptly had half a painted dog in her lap.

“I suppose I should be glad you’re not a rhinoceros or something,” she teased, fondly.

“Of course I’m not,” Leda said. “That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“I didn’t think you made much sense, actually,” Hermione said, petting her head. “But now I get it.” 

“We knew I was going to be something canine,” Leda said. “We thought maybe a wolf or a fox for a while, but… well. This felt better.”

“I had no idea about us, honestly,” Hermione admitted, laughing. “Xim didn’t even really ever spend much time as a lynx before he settled. Or even a cat. But it felt right when he found it, too.”

Xim had started to purr, though it was more the sort he liked to use to convince her to go to sleep when he was half on top of her, or that he used to settle her nerves when she was scared. He always had a slightly different tone when he was purring because he was happy.

“You’re being quiet,” she said, after a few minutes of silence.

“I’m tired,” Draco said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go? I’m really not good for anything right now.”

Hermione studied him for a minute, including the way Xim was staying close. Draco was flushed and too pale, but there was something in his gaze. It took her a minute to figure it out, and then she sighed; it was a familiar emotion.

“You don’t have to be useful all the time,” she said, carefully. She leaned in against his side. “You’re good at a lot of things, and of course I like that, but it’s not why I like you. It’s okay if you’re not on top of everything every single minute.”

“I think me being good at things encompasses the sum total of our relationship,” Draco said, a little too sharply. “Well, and to give credit where credit is due, you being good at things.”

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response,” Hermione said.

“I mean it,” Draco said.

“I spent months losing at chess to you,” Hermione said. “I could’ve dropped off the bloodwork and gone home and gotten the results by owl the next day. But I thought you were interesting. And, for the record, you’re exactly the second person I’ve slept with, so if I hadn’t trusted you already, I really wouldn’t have said yes to that. 

“And if I were using you for sex, I’d show up at eight and leave at ten or owl you if I wanted to come over. We wouldn’t do dinner or have wine and play games, and I wouldn’t invite you to come spend time in the morgue.”

“I –“ Draco said.

Even if he was sick, he’d gone beyond idiotic into infuriating. “If you’ll only believe that we’re friends if I stop sleeping with you, then that’s fine. I’d rather be friends who don’t have sex than people who have sex but, apparently, don’t like each other.”

Leda sat up to stare at him, her eyes narrowing. “Were we going to talk about this at some point?” she said to Draco. “I think we ought to have talked about this at some point.”

“No, we weren’t,” Draco said. “Look, can you just go home? Leda and I will be fine. And I’ll… we can figure out the rest of it later.”

“No, I can’t,” Hermione said, shortly. “I’m going to go check on the soup.”

Draco didn’t say anything, and he kept not saying anything, although Xim was still vaguely wrapped around him. She wasn’t about to go home, but she also didn’t particularly want to be in the same room. She let herself out into the hallway. She figured that if Xim stayed behind, it was perfectly clear that she wasn’t actually leaving. 

There was a room she’d found one night when Draco had changed passwords and forgotten to tell her. You could really only see the door if you weren’t looking for it, sort of out of your peripheral vision, and she suspected the room itself might be located much further into the dungeons than the location of the door suggested. It was beautiful, though, with vaulted ceilings and an entire wall that looked out into the lake. At first, all the water surrounding the dungeons had made her feel claustrophobic, but she was used to it by now. She liked watching out the windows at night for the fairy lights that danced in the water and the quicksilver flashes out in the deep. It was beautiful, a little like watching the night sky for falling stars if the sky had been full of darkness to begin with.

She watched for a while, standing with a hand pressed against the cool glass, but she turned when she heard the door click. Leda looked uncertain, ears flat against her head, and Hermione suddenly couldn’t bear it any more than she would have been able to if it were Xim.

“It’s okay, come here,” she said, sinking down onto her knees. Leda came and buried her face against Hermione’s chest. She was nearly shaking.

“I’m not angry, I promise,” Hermione said, gently, stroking her palms over Leda’s sides. “Are you cold? Can I make it better?”

Leda laughed softly. “You just do that, you know,” she said. “You come along and you want to help everyone. I used to think that was stupid, but now I’m not so sure.”

“I know you’re not okay,” Hermione said. “But I don’t know why.”

“Well, he yelled at me to go,” Leda said. “So I’m not happy about that. And we’re not supposed to keep secrets from each other, and I think he has been.” She sighed, warm against Hermione’s shirt. “And I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t think he wants me to leave either,” Hermione said, gently. “And I know he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. I’ve gotten in some fights with Xim, it just… you know how it makes you feel. Sick and awful at the same time. I bet he’ll come after you. It’s okay.”

“We’re scared of caring about anyone,” Leda said, quietly. “He’s – it’s been a lot, you know, with our family and all those things and then everyone who thinks… I don’t know. All the things everyone thinks about him. Us, really.”

Hermione undid her cardigan, transfiguring it into a blanket, and wrapped Leda up, pulling her closer.

“I know,” she said. “But he can’t be mean just because he’s scared.”

“No,” Leda agreed. She was nearly too big to curl up in Hermione’s lap, but she mostly managed. “I don’t think you think those things.”

“I don’t,” Hermione said. “But he’s going to have to figure that out for himself.”

“Probably,” Leda said, with a sigh. “We’re stubborn sometimes, though.”

“Want to watch the lake with me for a while?” Hermione offered.

“Okay,” Leda agreed. “Thank you for staying.”

“Stop that,” Hermione murmured, kissing the top of her head. “If you need me, of course I’m staying.”

Leda settled down against her, her breathing finally evening out, and after a few more minutes, Hermione realized she’d fallen asleep. She kept petting her, making sure she stayed warm.

The door swung open again a few minutes later.

“Leda –“ Draco said.

“Shh,” Hermione said. “She’s sleeping.”

“Is she okay?” he said. She realized after a moment that he was hanging back, like he didn’t know what to do.

“I think the actual question is whether you are,” Hermione said, gently. “Come over here.”

“I didn’t mean to upset her,” he said, quietly, sitting next to her on the floor. “Or you.”

Hermione leaned, carefully tilting Leda into Draco’s lap. She stirred, but he pressed his forehead against her head.

“It’s okay, don’t wake up,” he murmured.

“Are you still mad?” she said.

“Of course not,” Draco said. “I wasn’t mad to begin with, I was just…”

“I know,” Leda said, after a moment. “But don’t do that again.”

“I promise,” Draco said.

Xim nudged the door open, crossing the room on silent cat feet to stand next to her.

“I didn’t really want to leave the soup unattended,” he said, nudging his face against her shoulder. “On the other hand, I thought maybe I’d better make sure no one killed Draco.”

Hermione laughed softly. “We’ll go back for the soup,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, after a moment. “I really – I know you care, but sometimes it’s easier to pretend you don’t. I don’t want to lose…”

“This?” Hermione said. “Me? You’re not going to.”

“It feels more complicated than that,” Draco said, finally.

“I know,” she said, reaching to cup his jaw. She pulled him down for a kiss.

“I’m just going to get you sick too,” Draco muttered, but his shoulders came down a little.

“Then you can make me soup,” Hermione said, stroking his hair off his face. “Speaking of which, it’s not good for you to be so cold. Or for Leda.”

“I know, but I was worried about her,” Draco said. “And you. I thought maybe…”

“We were going to run away?” Hermione said, laughing softly. “Draco, I know the irrational feeling, but your soul can’t abandon you and take a train to Siberia. That’s not how it works.”

“Of course I wasn’t _going_ anywhere,” Leda said, looking sort of aghast. “Draco!”

“Neither was Hermione,” Xim said.

“You can both yell at me once I’m back on the sofa,” Draco said. He coughed. “But I think I’m going to fall over.” He managed a small smile. “And the soup smelled good.”

“Oh, compliments, you’d better watch it or I’ll think you like my cooking,” Hermione said, laughing softly. She stood, taking Leda’s blanket when she stood up too, and offered her hands, pulling Draco up.

She got him back to the sofa, summoning the duvet from the bedroom. Leda curled up against Draco’s side, buried under the blankets except for her nose, and Xim flopped down on top of him.

“If I’m squashing you, I don’t care,” he said. “But Leda, you can tell me if I’m too heavy.”

“On the bright side, soup doesn’t really burn if it’s on for longer than anticipated,” Hermione said. She passed a bowl to Draco, sitting on the other side of the couch.

“Thanks,” Draco said. He was still being quiet, but Hermione figured it was better not to push.

She finished her soup, then climbed over Xim.

“Hey,” Draco protested. “What, are you all literally piling on me?”

“Pretty much,” Hermione said, snuggling down between Draco’s side and the couch. Xim moved so he was covering both of them.

“You were sort of furious with me a few minutes ago,” Draco said, cautiously. “I don’t think I’ve said anything to make you _not_ furious with me, either.”

“No, but Leda did,” Hermione said. She reached a hand up to brush Draco’s hair out his face again. “I want to be here. I’m going to keep being here. I was mad at you for not knowing that, already, but –“ She considered. “Then I realized I hadn’t said it, and you might need me to say it.”

“I didn’t, if I’m being honest,” Draco said. “We spend a lot of time together, you bring me things when you think I’d like them, and –“ There was a pause. “I mean, I don’t know if we’re stopping that, but we do sort of have a lot of sex. I’m not such an idiot that I don’t know we’re friends.”

“So?” Hermione said.

“I get unreasonably outraged at the thought of you with Potter,” Draco said, finally. “And I thought maybe it was just that I can’t stand him, but I tested it with other men and I get unreasonably outraged at that too.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, after a moment. “Are you honestly trying to tell me that you’re trying to get rid of me because you think I’m going to have a problem with not sleeping with other people?”

“I don’t really think that’s how that whole arrangement works,” Draco said, dryly.

“Well, it could be,” Hermione said. “I don’t mind giving that up.”

“It’s not how it works,” Draco repeated, quietly. “Hermione, it’s supposed to be just sex. I can’t keep having you in my bed and teaching classes for me when I’ve got a potion I can’t leave and showing up to play Pantheon even if you’re too tired for sex. And I can’t… Leda can’t care about you this much.”

“Do you want to stop?” Hermione said, cautiously. “I can’t tell if you’re saying we shouldn’t be having sex or if we shouldn’t be doing the rest of it.”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I feel like I asked you for all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons, when we started this.”

“Meaning?” Hermione said.

“I thought we could be friends,” Draco said. “But when I said we wouldn’t work as a couple, I think… I knew that wasn’t true, but I was afraid of what would happen if we tried and I liked it and you didn’t.” He reached, burying his hands in Xim’s fur. Hermione could feel some of his anxiety. “So we’ve just played at it for months, which wasn’t fair to you. And I can’t ask for something else when I didn’t to begin with, I’d feel like I’d gotten you into something under false pretenses.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, amused in spite of herself. “We only have one rule in this whole thing. You’re supposed to ask for what you want.”

“Yes, and it’s about being direct when you’re having sex,” Draco said. “Not all this.”

“I mean, we didn’t specify, if you’re in need of a loophole,” Hermione said, laughing softly.

“Hermione,” Draco said.

“Oh, all right, I’ll use it,” Hermione said, leaning up to nudge her nose against his. “I want to keep having sex and loving Leda and pretending to like caviar for you. And I don’t want either of us to sleep with other people. Can I have that?”

“You love Leda?” Draco said, finally.

“Of course I do,” Hermione said. “How do you feel about Xim?”

“About like that,” Xim said, curling a paw around the back of Draco’s neck. He’d been quiet, but Hermione realized he’d been trying to stay out of the conversation. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “But I knew that already.”

“So did I,” Xim said. “I was just waiting for you to get around to saying something.”

“Meaning that no one’s been playing at anything for a while,” Hermione said. “Are you going to say yes?”

“Do you really want all that?” Draco said.

“I do,” Hermione said. She reached under the blankets to stroke Leda’s back. “Want to wake up?”

“Maybe,” Leda said, drowsily. “Do I get soup?”

“In a minute,” Hermione said. She leaned over Xim and Draco to bury her face in Leda’s fur. “How would you feel about being mine?”

“You were talking about things without me,” Leda said, lifting her head.

“A little,” Hermione said. “Doesn’t change the question, though.”

“I’d like that, I think,” Leda said, after a moment. “Are you sure? I know I’m…” She looked slightly uncertain. “Not always easy.”

“Very sure,” Hermione said, meeting her eyes. “And anyway, I love you.”

“Oh,” Leda said. Her ears had finally come up. “I think that would make me happy.”

“It would make me happy too,” Hermione said.

“It can’t possibly just be that easy,” Draco said, finally.

“I think it can be, actually,” Hermione said, leaning back to look at him. “I want to be with you.”

“I suppose since I’ve already gone and let you in,” Draco said.

“He means yes, he loves Xim too,” Leda said.

“I’d ask you to dinner, but I think it’s a little late for that,” Draco said, sounding a little rueful.

“Probably,” Hermione said, with a smile. “But that just means you can ask for better things.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ve already had the better things,” Draco said, but he looked speculative.

“Not that,” Hermione said, laughing. “You could ask me if I want to tell Harry tomorrow and ruin his entire year. Or if I should just move in.”

“You’d want that?” Draco said. He looked a little startled.

“Shh,” Leda said. “Don’t talk her out of traumatizing Potter. Can you make sure to tell him you had sex on his desk? I think that’d make it worse.”

“I’ll tell Harry if you’ll tell Pansy,” Hermione said, laughing. “Who knows, maybe we can suggest they get consolation drinks together.”

“Consolation shagging,” Xim suggested.

“God, no,” Hermione said. “We’d have to do dinner dates and all pretend to get along.”

“I meant –“ Draco said.

“I know what you meant,” Hermione said, shifting so she could settle her head on his shoulder as she wrapped an arm around him, nudging Xim out of the way.

“I think she’s saying,” Leda said, though she still looked a little uncertain, “that if we wanted, it would be all right if we… got used to them.”

Xim snorted. “You’re already used to us,” he corrected. “But you can stop worrying that we’ll leave.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s definitely not happening,” she said. “I was sort of wondering how to break it to you that you were stuck with me.”

“Oh, thank you,” Draco said, laughing softly. “You could have saved me the trouble of worrying about it for months.”

“You could have said something and saved yourself,” Hermione said, amused. “Although now I might have to flirt with Harry in front of you just to see what happens.”

“Death and dismemberment,” Leda muttered.

“Don’t try me,” Draco said.

“Now I definitely have to flirt with Harry in front of you,” Hermione teased.

“You know, I have quite a good working knowledge of lethal poisons,” Draco warned.

“I reserve the right to wind you up over this when you’re better,” Hermione said, mildly. “Because I’m using you for sex, you understand.”

“I knew it,” Draco said. “I suspected all along.”

“Well, that didn’t exactly end badly,” Hermione said. “I might have to start using you for other things. Like your liquor stores and your ridiculous bed.”

“You might have to stop making fun of the bed if you’re planning on sleeping in it full time,” Draco said.

“I’m going to turn all your curtains red and gold,” Hermione said, laughing. “See how you like it then. Maybe I’ll convince Harry to give me the sword of Gryffindor to put above the mantle. You wouldn’t be able to move it, it would be glorious.”

“You’re terrible,” Draco said. “I think I’ll keep you, though.”

“I do come with quite a few Gryffindor artifacts,” Hermione warned. “Also quite a few Gryffindors. Including Harry Potter.”

Draco sighed. “It might be worth it,” he said. “I’ll have to consider carefully. You may need to give me a few years.”

“It’s going to take me that long to learn chess,” Hermione pointed out, laughing.

“I guess that might work out, then,” Draco said.

“Probably,” Hermione agreed, and settled her head back against his shoulder with a smile.


End file.
